May Morning
by Lady Callista
Summary: A first person narrative of Willow, set before the last few episodes of S6. Willow goes to a Beltane rite...that's about it.


Disclaimer: This is barely even a Buffy story, but all Buffy stuff still belongs to Joss, etc all.

Set: After "Entropy" before "Seeing Red." "Entropy" actually originally aired on April 30, and ends with Willow and Tara reconciling and kissing. This is what happened the next morning...

AN: Um, yeah, so this is new and different. I'm not even sure why I'm posting it on fanficnet, other than I wrote it and don't really have anywhere else to post it where people can see it and tell me what they think. Change about three sentences and it's true, and it happened to me. Here goes nothing….

May Magick

By Lady Callista

It's still dark as we walk down the path, and only our memory and the waning moon's dim light keep us from straying into the woods that surround us. Those woods feel alive in this hour before dawn, and we glide on silent feet as we listen to the wind talking through the trees and hear the melodious calls of birds awakening.

A rustle off to the side of us has us both stopping and glancing into the underbrush, not out of fear but in curiosity. For things not of this world are in the woods on this holy day, and it would be a lovely start to the celebration to watch the faeries dance. Alas, as our eyes finally pierce the bushes we notice it is only a rabbit. Yet we pause to watch it nibble on dew-covered clover before continuing down the path.

The wind kicks up as we reach the narrowest part of the peninsula, and we huddle deeper into our cloaks, hands automatically reaching up to pull hoods tight before the wind can catch them and whip them back.

We catch the slightest hint of pink in the eastern sky as we pass by this gap in the trees, and then the woods close in on us again as we continue our trek to the end of this spire of land, and the clearing waiting for us there.

We walk in silence, neither of us feeling the need to speak. Instead we listen to everything around us. We become a part of our surroundings, blending into this landscape we chose months ago as our sacred place.

Finally we pass between two huge trees, the silent sentinels that have guarded this land long before we were born, and come into the clearing. Trees edge the near perfect circle, and beyond them on three sides the land sweeps down to rocks that tumble into the lake surrounding us. The wind always seems to be blowing over the water and the earth, and we know that once we light the balefire the circle we cast here moons ago will snap into place as it always does.

We stand in the East as we raise our arms to the sky, drinking power as we finally allow our hoods to fall back, and then leaning down to light the fire. It is soon smoldering, then smoking and burning brightly as more and more logs catch fire. We are enveloped by it's heat and power just as our solitude is broken by several more friends arriving. They step into the clearing, into the circle, and approach the fire as we feel the magick building. Although others will be arriving soon, and some of them are here for different reasons than we are, this moment is for us.

\We stand around the fire contemplating, meditating, no one speaking more than basic greetings. We all shift to our sides of the fire, to our elements, without thought. And then our awareness widens as we hear the sound of bells.

The Morris dancers arrive in groups of twos and threes, and with them trickle in other people, the people that are always here on this day. Whether to watch the dancers, experience a piece of the past, or to worship as we do; there is soon a large group gathered.

As the sky begins to turn pink dancers form up in lines of green and white, and bells rings and sticks clack as we watch them dance dances older than any of us. Characters weave in and out of the dance; The Fool, The Maiden, The Bettie, The Hobby-horse. These performers would be ridiculed if they walked down the street. Yet we know and respect traditions and the reasons behind them, so nary a smile is cracked over the woman surrounded by a wooden and cloth horse, and the man in the pink dress gathers no more than a second glance. Or mayhap a question from those who have never been here before, but always a polite question.

With the man in the pink dress, with the Bettie, is the young Maiden in similar garb. She bears poppy seed cookies, and blessings for the coming season. Her shyness is like that of the Maiden, like that of the Craft, always offered, always accessible, but never forced. You will only partake if you wish to.

The dance goes on and on as yet more people gather, and a cheer goes up from all assembled as the first orange sliver of the sun crests the horizon.

The dancers continue their exhibition, not minding that half the people's attention is on the slowly rising sun.

And when that glowing orb is fully visible the dancers stop, and they erect the May Pole in the center of the clearing. It's still tightly bound in the ribbons we wound it in last year, and is ready for our attention once again.

The Morris dancers circle it first, dancing a blessing around it, and then invite both those young and young at heart to pick up a ribbon and join the dance. They weave the patterns, laugh and sing, then reweave the pole in the beautiful crosshatch it will rest in over the coming year.

As song sheets are passed around and everyone gathers by the fire, one of the dancers brings out the leaf-form of the Winter Witch, explaining how the third form of the Goddess, the Crone, presides over the winter. She then passes her around the circle, directing people to leave their worries and hurts upon her, to be banished as the wheel turns.

We sing as she is passed around, and watch people's faces grow brighter as they pass her off. She comes last to me, and with a lighter heart I stand to give her back to the first woman, but she only smiles and gestures to me.

With a whispered 'Blessed Be' I set the Crone on the fire, feeling the power grow as she burns away. I smile as I am handed the Spring Maiden, to be passed around the fire in the opposite direction, and to place your hopes and your dreams on.

We pass her around, and continue to sing as the group slowly dwindles, people pulled back to the real world of work or school.

We're among the last there, the last to leave the clearing and the circle, and as we turn to leave I step back from the fire, lifting green skirts and cloak to leap the fading fire and bless the day.

We talk quietly as we walk down the long path, now lit with streams of sunlight on the beautiful May morning.

Although I've only been Wiccan for a few years, only celebrated this holiday here for one, I've never seen a more perfect Beltane morning.

I smile at Tara as we reach our car, and she gives me a gentle kiss that makes the morning all the more perfect.


End file.
